


Hashed Out

by snowpoppies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowpoppies/pseuds/snowpoppies
Summary: Pomona Sprout encounters Horace Slughorn in the greenhouse, and they partake in one of their favourite pastimes.(Written for the HPFF Winter Writing Challenge II)(Also, a first for this relationship tag?!)
Relationships: Pomona Sprout & Horace Slughorn
Comments: 14
Kudos: 7





	Hashed Out

Pomona Sprout half-chuckled to herself as she strode into her greenhouse. These kids. They must think her not very clever, clustering their plants in behind the Shrivelfig and Wiggentree saplings, nothing but a weak obfuscate charm to conceal them from view.

The stash of marijuana plants in the greenhouse had been the worst-kept secret at Hogwarts for decades now. Professor Sprout pretended not to notice, collecting only a small weekly tax. She hummed to herself as she clipped the buds, dropping them one by one into a brown satchel she kept at her hip. The plants were incredibly healthy, she couldn’t help but feel some pride in her students’ horticultural abilities. _If only they put the same level of care into their homework._ She thought, casting a defeated glance towards the wilting mandrakes.

She finished pocketing the buds, put the obfuscate charm back up, intact, before walking over to a workbench. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and turning to look, saw a portly man bent over her Venomous Tentacula. 

“Horace?” She called.

The man dropped his shears with a start, banging his head on a shelf above him as he looked up.

“Oh, Pomona! Wonderful to see you, what a nice surprise.” He smiled, rubbing at the top of his balding scalp.

“Surprise?” She pursed her lips, “This is _my_ greenhouse. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Ah, you know, just enjoying the greenery. It’s quite peaceful in here.”

Pomona narrowed her eyes. “Mmhmm, and the shears?”

Horace glanced up, then back down. “Eh, uh, well, actually, I needed to collect tentacula leaves for a potion.”

“Merlin, you could’ve just asked.”

“Ah, well, top secret assignment from Dumbledore, you know.”

“Albus never keeps secrets from me about my own plants.”

“Well, Pomona, you know—”

“I know those leaves are worth ten galleons a piece to the right buyer, Horace.”

“Err, yes, well.” He stuttered, searching for an explanation.

She stepped over to him, giving him a jovial slap on the back, “You can stop tripping over your tongue Horace, you know I don’t mind. Just send me back 5 galleons a leaf. It’s healthy for it to be pruned anyway, so you’re saving me some trouble.”

Horace considered haggling with that bit about 5 galleons a leaf, before answering, “Well, you’re quite welcome, happy to be helpful.”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled widely.

“What are you doing in the greenhouses at this hour? Surely students can do the night watering?” He inquired. 

Pomona unclipped the satchel from her side and held it up with a grin.

“You remember the students’ old stash, don’t you Horace?”

Horace shot Pomona a conspiratorial grin. “Ho, ho, well, it has been a while hasn’t it?”

She grinned back. “Care to join me outside?”

“Actually, I’d prefer to stay in the greenhouse, if it’s all the same to you.” Horace cast an uneasy glance towards the window.

“Uh, sure?” Pomona answered, narrowing her eyes slightly before removing a bronze cigarette case, engraved with a simple vine pattern, from her pocket, and flicking it open.

“I already have a couple of joints pre-rolled.” She offered, as explanation, removing one from the case and placing it in her mouth. Horace pulled out his wand and lit the end of it for her. Pomona inhaled deeply, letting out a small cloud of white smoke before passing the joint to her colleague.

Horace only managed a short drag before sputtering on his own breath, which rapidly devolved into chest wracking coughs.

Pomona chuckled, “Easy there Horace, been a while, has it?”

Horace, still coughing, could only manage a “Bugger off” in return.

They passed the joint back and forth, taking long drags in turns.

Their companionable silence was broken as the greenhouse door slammed open. In one motion, Horace stubbed the joint out and threw himself under the bench behind the bubotubers. 

“Pomona, get down.” Horace hissed. 

Pomona craned her neck to glance at the greenhouse door. 

“Whatever for?” She whispered back

“Shshsh, just get down here, maybe we won’t be caught.”

A grin crept across Pomona’s face, “Caught? By who?”

“Shhh, you know.”

“Students?” She asked, letting herself get louder.

“Pomona, please.”

Desperately fighting the wave of giggles she felt building in the back of her throat, she teased,“Oh what are they going to do, tell Dumbledore?” 

Slughorn’s eyes widened. “Do you think they…”

“Merlin, Horace, calm down. It was just the wind!” Pomona bent over in a fit of laughter, clutching at her stomach.

Slughorn crawled out from under the bench, dusting off his shirt, shooting her an indignant look. “You bitch.”

“Going to get off the ground today, Horace?”

“Yes, well, just join me, will you?” Horace leaned back against the bench, making himself comfortable, “I’m afraid… I’m not sure I’ll be getting up anytime soon.”

Pomona stifled the last of her giggles as she plopped down on the dirt beside him and asked, “We could be outside on the grass right now, why’d you want to smoke in here anyway?”

“Yes, well, if you must know, I’m sort of avoiding someone.” Horace answered, putting the joint to his mouth.

“Who?” Pomona pulled out her wand to light it. 

“Ah—” He took a long drag, “Just an overzealous student.”

“Which student? Granger?”

“Actually, Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter?” Pomona chuckled, “Bothering you about his mark?”

“Why yes, he’s quite dedicated to potions.”

“That doesn’t sound like Harry Potter at all.”

“Well, you know, maybe he just doesn’t care about your plants.”

“Lest we forget, can’t make any of your silly potions without _my_ plants."

“Quite lucky for me, people like yourself exist to do the dull work of, er, plant growing.”

“Dull work? Duller than being locked in a dungeon, bent over a cauldron? It’s no wonder you have back problems.”

“It’s no wonder you have such deep wrinkles, all that time in the sun.”

Pomona reached over and swatted Horace on the shoulder. “You know Horace, it’s nice to have you back. I rather like not being the ugliest old hag on the faculty.”

This time they both bent over in a fit of giggles, clutching at their stomachs. Each time they felt themselves calming down, they would look at each other and it would all start up again. They laughed until they had that burning feeling in the backs of their throats. Like they had just had been for a long run, except without the unpleasant running bits. The contentment settled deep into Pomona’s chest. 

After a spell of silence, and several failed attempts at starting a conversation without collapsing back into laughter, Pomona glanced out the window with a sigh. “The stars.” 

“The stars?” Horace asked. 

She continued, “Do—do you, do you think…”

“I try to think quite often, Pomona.”

“No, no, listen, listen, the stars, right?” She waved her hand, vaguely gesturing at the window.

“Okay, so, the stars.” Horace humoured her. 

“The centaurs, do you think they can, you know, tell the future?” She looked at her colleague, wide-eyed. 

Horace laughed, “A right sight better than dear Sybil I’m sure.”

All traces of humour left Pomona Sprout’s face. “Well why can’t they tell us then?”

Horace felt himself grow uncomfortable, “They can’t interfere, you know.”

“I guess they’ll just watch us all bloody die then.” She spat, digging and twisting her heel into the dirt.

“Pomona!”

“Well, it feels like it did before, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” He lets out a heavy sigh, “I suppose it does.”

Pomona looked down, burrowing her fingers into her robes, “You know the student at the Triwizard Tournament? Cedric?” She felt a sudden heaviness in her eyes, and blinked it back, “He was one of mine.”

“Oh, I, uh,” Horace stumbled, searching for the words, and, not finding them, settled on, “That’s awful.”

“Just...just feels like it's all starting over again.”

“I can’t imagine—”

“Sure you can, I know you lost a good number of yours too. Last time.”

Horace rocks back onto his seat bones, trying not to consider this, but she flashes into his mind anyway. Bright red hair, startling green eyes.

Pomona broke his trance. “I’ve been changing my curriculum this year, you know? Teaching them how to identify some field specimens key for basic healing potions.”

“Ah.”

“Actually,” She continues, “That’s another project I’ve got going. I’ve been growing some rare varieties here, trying to stockpile key ingredients. Some nastier things too.”

Horace cleared his throat, “That’s quite admirable, really, but it's hardly a teacher’s responsibility to begin preparations for a war.”

Pomona reached out and grabbed his hand, “Wouldn’t you do anything.” She stares into his eyes, almost pleading, “Anything to help them? Anything that might just keep one extra kid alive?”

Horace was quiet for a second, staring at her hand on top of his uncomfortably.

“Of-of course. Of course I would.” Guilt twists, sharp, in his stomach and there she is again. Green eyes, shock of red hair. Lily Evans. Among the brightest of her age, actually, among the brightest he had ever taught, really. And not just that, full of wit and charm. Resolutely kind. Brave, always brave. So in love with that Potter boy, overjoyed by their son. _Their son_. 

“Of course I would.” He almost whispered, pulling his hand back from hers. “Actually, I, you know what Pomona, I need to go have a word with Albus.”

Pomona shot him a confused glance, “Now? At this hour in your, ehm, condition?” 

“Yes, I better go before--” - _before your resolve fades._ “I, I’m afraid it really can’t wait.”

“Ah, okay.” She stood up, reaching a hand out to Horace, “Well, let’s do it again sometime. Rolanda will join.”

“Yes, let’s.” Horace clasped her arm, allowing her to help him up. They shared a smile before he turned to leave.

“Oh, and Horace?”

He glanced back over his shoulder “Hmm?”

“You owe me 50 galleons.”


End file.
